


Soaring

by Saltylocks



Series: Salty ships Marvel [4]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Anal Fingering, Drinking, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Magic, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Sam'Challa, What's their shipname?, blackfalcon - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-28
Updated: 2016-11-30
Packaged: 2018-07-10 18:20:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6999364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saltylocks/pseuds/Saltylocks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam is left behind in Wakanda after a mission, so he hangs out with<br/>T'Challa. Needless to say, their relationship improves quite a bit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hello

**Author's Note:**

> I know Falcon and Black Panther had very little, if any, screen time together in CA:CW, but I know there are a lot of fics working with less :P
> 
> The references to Bucky and Steve in the first chapter refers to my Stucky fic ["Sleeping Bucky"](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6701494/chapters/15326644). If you like this, you might like this as well :)

“Hi,” Sam said, sliding over to the chair next to T’Challa at the bar. 

T’Challa looked over, surprised and amused. 

“Hello,” he answered. “How did it go?”

“Smoothly,” Falcon informed him. “Cap and Bucky are on their way back to the US now.”

“And the others?”

“Sharon, Tony, Wanda and Clint too.” 

T’Challa nodded, taking a swig from his glass.

“How did you find me?” he asked, his tone a little guarded.

“I have to admit, it took some time. But I’m not as stupid as I look.”

The Wakandan king gave his colleague a inquisitive glance. Falcon shrugged, his smile disarming. Sam then looked a bit unsure of what to do now that he had actually found the man.

“A drink?” T’Challa offered.

“Man, thanks, but I shouldn’t...”

“I insist,” T’Challa said, signalling to the man behind the bar. “To celebrate the successful extraction of the Winter Soldier.”

Sam bit his lip and then agreed, leaning against the flat wooden surface.

“He really hates being called that,” he pointed out, and T’Challa grinned. 

“I won’t tell him if you don’t,” he said. 

Sam nodded and chuckled a little. 

“My lips are sealed. What do they have here?”

T’Challa ordered him a gin and tonic, which happened to be one of Sam’s favorites. The king ordered himself another and suggested they’d kick back for a while in the lounge. Sam sat down against the low sofa, looking tranquil, but T’Challa couldn’t relax yet, too wound up from the events of the past few weeks. 

“Why did you need to find me anyway?” he said.

“There wasn’t any room in the helicopter and I volunteered to stay. I thought I might ask if you could put me up until it’s safe to fly back.”

“Of course. You are a very self sacrificing man, mr Wilson.”

“Please, call me Sam,” Falcon said, taking a swig from his glass. “And I'm not, really. Steve really likes Barnes and it seemed more important to get him home. Besides, it gave me a chance to spend more time here.”

T’Challa nodded, still impressed.

When the bar closed, the most convenient place was a penthouse close by that T’Challa owned. 

“It’s probably too late to drive back to the base now anyway, and I need to attend to some matters here in the city. It's not big but it has an extra bed. Does that work for you?”

“Yeah, sure,” Sam said, yawning.

Next thing, they heard a woman shout for help further up the street. 

“Come on,” Sam shouted, and T’Challa followed him as he ran down to help. They bumped into the assailant and Sam threw him into a wall, shattering the bricks behind him. 

“Stay,” the hero growled.

T’Challa turned to the woman, looking as frightened of them as she had been of the other man. He talked to her gently in xhosa and she relaxed as she heard the native tongue. 

“Thank you,” she said, shivering a little. “I live right here but he attacked me as I was going inside. He’s my ex and he just got too much to drink. Please, I just want to go home.” 

She slipped away down the street. T’Challa didn’t want to stop her. Sam waited before he let go of the man, and T’Challa had a talk with him too, sternly, a hand on his shoulder. Sam could have sworn he saw a small wisp of purple smoke emerge from T’Challa's hand, but he wasn’t sure. Then, the man walked away, and T’Challa urged him towards the city and the hotel. 

The new king walked inside, making himself another drink. Falcon let out a small whistle as he looked around the apartment. T’Challa wished he had cleaned it up more before leaving last time, he had left clothes everywhere and some stale bread on the kitchen counter.

“Make yourself at home,” he offered, and Falcon sat down on the couch, eyes big.

“I thought you just rented this place now, but you live here, don’t you?”

“Well, it’s one of many places I can use,” T’Challa shrugged. “Now, the room to the right upstairs should be clean, and there are fresh towels in the closet over there.”

“Thanks, man.”

They looked at each other.

“You got any good music?” Sam asked as the silence stretched out. 

“The CD stand is over there.”

“CD?”

Sam scrunched up his nose as he walked over to it. 

“Don’t you have more advanced stuff than that? Something wireless?”

“You can look it up if you want,” T’Challa offered with another shrug. “My staff leave me all kinds of things and I haven’t really gotten around to try them all.

He knew he had the latest of everything, but he hadn’t payed much attention to the technological advancements lately, instead training in the jungle to be able to take over his father’s legacy. He had only been back a couple of weeks before the meeting with the UN, and he still wasn’t sure about his abilities and connections to the ancient magic yet. Being updated on the latest pop music was the least of his problems. 

T’Challa sat down on the sofa, watching Sam Wilson go through his music, the frown on his face only getting more pronounced. It was actually kind of entertaining to watch. Then, Falcon walked over to the TV and made a sound of excitement. He whipped out his phone and turned on the screen. Soon, a funk inspired rap song blasted out of the speakers. 

“I like this one,” Sam said, sitting down with a grin, adding more songs to the list. 

“Never heard it,” T’Challa confessed.

Sam frowned again and swiped his thumb over the screen. A new song turned on.

“What about this one?” 

“No. Sorry.”

Sam paused the music and regarded him.

“I will make you a list,” he said. “No man should be without Marvin Gaye or Uptown funk.”

T’Challa wasn’t sure why, but he felt like had just been dealt a great honor.

“Okay,” he said, unwinding a little, and smiling. “Thank you.”

Wilson beamed at him and turned the music back on. Most of it was actually decent. After a while T’Challa actually did recognize something.

“This is “I’m so excited”, I think?”

Wilson’s face lit up.

“Yeah, with the Pointer Sisters! This is such a good song!” 

He started singing, and looked so happy, and T’Challa could feel himself get affected by the other man’s excitement, the liquor making him less guarded than usual. When Sam got up for the chorus, he did too, and he felt very free. The music made him feel light and... was he glowing? 

Sam stopped dancing and just stared at him. T’Challa looked down on his hands. They were faintly glowing violet, fading as he looked at it. Shame filled him.

“I’m sorry you had to see that,” he said, glancing up at Sam, expecting him to be frightened. “I haven’t been as good at controlling my powers after my father passed.”

“Don’t worry about it, man.”

Sam’s tone of voice surprised him. Falcon sounded like he knew what it was like. He wasn’t scared either, or pitiful. Instead, T’Challa felt a warm hand on his shoulder.

“I was kind of worked up after my parents died too.”

The tone, the understanding, it was too much, too soon. T’Challa didn’t know how to respond. The conflicting feelings inside him made him freeze up, and Sam just allowed it, just stood there and waited. When he took his hand away, T’Challa missed the heaviness of it.

“You okay?” 

“Yes.”

“Alright.”

Wilson sat down but didn’t turn the music on. T’Challa gathered himself. Sam Wilson was certainly a calming presence. Almost too good, even. 

“I think it is best that I retire for the night,” T’Challa said. “Do you wish to accompany me tomorrow while I do my errands, or do you have other plans?” 

“No other plans,” Sam said, smiling warmly. “I’d love to come, if that’s alright with you.”

T’Challa’s heart skipped a beat.

“Then I wish you a pleasant sleep,” he said, striding over to his bedroom door. “Good night.”

Closing the door, the regent looked at his hands. This was bad. He had seen his father do many incredible things, but he had never seen him _glow_. Maybe it was the Panther God, trying to send him a message of some kind? But what?

He slid down the wall and hugged his knees. He wished his father was still there. He reached out into the dulled silence of his room, but no one answered.


	2. Breakfast in Wakanda

“Psst!”

Sam winked against the sunlight shining down at him from the windows. A little lady stood in front of him, looking concerned and vaguely threatening. For a few seconds, he thought she might had kidnapped him, before remembering where he was.

“The king would like to inform you he was happy with your services and that you may help yourself to anything in his kitchen, provided you are to leave these premises within thirty minutes.”

Sam blinked. The lady was dressed in a grey dress suit, a pen skirt, heels and holding a clip board.

“No,” he said, clearing his throat, “no, I’m a guest, not a...”

What was she implying, exactly?

“Would you like to call you a cab?” she continued, looking bored and attentive at the same time. Her tone and demeanor reminded Sam of Pepper Potts, though they looked nothing alike.

“Mina!” T’Challa called out, entering the front door in a grey track suit.

 _”My king!”_ the assistant said in xhosa and turned towards her employer in a elegant curtsy. 

T’Challa leaned down and kissed her on both cheeks. Sam felt even more confused.

 _”I see you met Sam,”_ T’Challa said. _“I promised to entertain him until he’s able to fly home again.”_

 _“An american, huh?”_ Mina said and winked. 

T’Challa could feel himself blush against his will. 

_”Not like that,”_ he said quickly. _“He just helped out with some things regarding the king’s death.”_

Mina gasped.

 _”The king is dead,”_ she muttered, making the sign.

 _“Long live the king,”_ T’Challa answered, a fist on his chest.

Sam just cocked his head, and T'Challa felt he couldn't leave him out of the conversation anymore.

“Sorry,” T’Challa said. “Sam, this is my assistant Mina - Mina, this is Sam Wilson.”

“Pleasure,” Mina said and nodded politely. “Sorry about the confusion.”

“Not at all,” Sam said. “Now I do remember someone saying something about breakfast?”

“Right this way,” Mina said. 

“I have to take a shower, but I’ll be right with you.”

Then the king was gone and Sam and the assistant were alone again.

“I feel awful now,” she confessed. “I didn’t mean to imply, you know, that...”

“I don’t mind,” Sam laughed, helping himself to some coffee. “Besides, it must be routine, chasing people out of T’Challa's apartments?”

“No, not really. Why would you think that?”

She looked at him keenly, and Sam kept talking.

“Well, look at him, he’s a handso...”

He quieted and blushed a little.

“No reason,” he said and looked down into his cup.

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell him, she promised.

“There’s nothing to tell,” Sam said, glancing up at her.

“Right.”


	3. Purple smoke and happy gods

“Why do I need to to this again?” 

Sam looked like a baby getting ready for his first day of school. They were in T’Challas bedroom, trying on clothes. Sam was standing in front of the dresser in just a shirt and socks, his lower lip pouting slightly.

“Because I can’t bring a man in a sweater and track pants into a workshop concerning Wakanda’s future economy. I am the king, but I still have a reputation to uphold.”

Sam nodded, but still looking doubtful.

“Well, you might have to bring a man without any pants, so there’s that.”

“Well, you do have very nice legs," T'Challa said in passing, his eyes scanning the shelves. "Wait, I think I have something...”

Sam tried to ignore the compliment as T’Challa dug up a pair of black jeans from the bottom of his closet.

“Better than track pants, right?” he smiled.

Sam put the pants on. They fit him snugly and felt soft and stretchy for a pair of jeans. He didn’t want to know how much they cost.

“I don’t know man, what if I break them?”

“I can buy new ones.”

Sam suddenly remembered that T’Challa was very rich. 

“Alright. Thanks, T.”

“Anytime.”

The cab ride was quiet. The people at the meeting all spoke xhosa, so Sam had a hard time following. It didn’t matter though, because it was difficult for him to keep his eyes of T’Challa. The regent was definitely in his element now, the words flowing easily off his tongue, with a light clicking sound embedded in the words at times. Sam was placed next to him but no one spoke to the american during the meeting, even if some of the council members eyed him with curiosity. After a while, Sam went off exploring on his own, mingling and cracking jokes. T’Challa joined Sam later as he stood by the drink’s table, searching the crowd with a laid back expression. 

“Bored?” he asked. 

“Not at all,” Sam said, moving a little closer. 

T’Challa’s heart raced when Sam’s mouth moved up to his ear.

“See that guy in the white suit? Don’t look directly at him.”

T’Challa nodded, letting his eyes move slowly over the group of people in front of them. The man Sam referred to didn’t look anything out of the ordinary, maybe a little sweaty.

“He’s been talking to almost all of the council members during the break. I talked to the lady sitting three chairs away from you, the head of agriculture. Short natural hair? Yeah, her. She said he had asked them to change their votes.”

“Did she say what organisation he said he was from?” T’Challa murmured.

“She said he said he was with some kind of lobby group, but I don’t know, he doesn’t look like a politician.”

T’Challa followed the man with his eyes, standing close with Sam to not seem like he was looking at him.

“We get a lot of these people at events like this,” he said in an effort to make it sound less dramatic. “Thanks for keeping your eyes open though.”

“Sure,” Sam said. 

Then he too seemed to notice how close they were, and moved away a little, brushing himself off. 

“Want me to follow him?” he said.

“Only if I can come with,” T’Challa answered, a small smile on his lips.

“I thought you had a meeting?”

“I only listen in. They can do it without me.”

Sam grinned like a schoolboy about to skip class.

“Let’s go,” he said.

\---ooo---

It was a good chase. The man had really been a lobbyist, wanting to increase the Wakandan export of Vibranium. Sam watched T’Challa talk some sense into him, and in the end, there was a little puff of purple smoke. Sam watched the man walk off and rubbed his eyes. They picked up some Thai food and walked back to the apartment. 

“T,” Sam said. “I got to ask. What’s up with the purple?”

T’Challa put down the carton and picked up his beer. He had removed his suit jacket and tie and looked very relaxed. Sam could see a little crinkle between his eyebrows reappear though, and kept eating.

“I mean,” he said, “you don’t have to tell me, but I’ve seen a lot of magic recently, more than I ever thought existed a few years ago. I met an Asgardian at a party at the Avenger’s tower. You will probably meet him in the future, too.”

The king kept quiet, and Sam didn’t think he would speak, but then he told him, in a deep voice.

“The ‘purple’, as you call it, is a gift,” T’Challa whispered. “I have had the power of Bast since I was born, and I was trained from a very young age to be able to receive and handle it. My father had it before me. It lets me, among other things, see, hear, smell and taste things more acutely than others.”

Sam let out a low whistle. 

“And yet, here you are, eating Thai food,” he said, in an effort to dissipate the tension.

T’Challa chuckled.

“It doesn’t mean I don’t like things less,” he said. “I like to think it makes me able to enjoy things more.”

“Yeah, see, it’s good I’m so plain,” Sam said, grinning. “I would not be as chill about having powers. I would probably go on a rampage or something.”

T’Challa found himself staring. Did the man in front of him really don’t know...?

“Sam, you...”

He wiped his mouth a little, thinking of how to phrase his thoughts correctly.

“You are not plain at all,” he said. “You are very unique. I can’t say I know anyone who would stay behind indefinitely just so his friends will get home safely.”

Sam looked a little bashful from the praise. T’Challa realized that he might not have gotten much of that growing up. It made him sad to think about. 

“It’s nothing,” the Falcon said, shrugging, like always. “You got to help your friends. Simple, really.”

“Easy to say, maybe, but harder to follow through with,” T’Challa said, putting a hand on his knee, patting him lightly.

“What about when you talk to people?” Sam said, looking at him with interest. “It almost look like you mark them in some way.”

“I just got that, from taking over my father’s mantle as the king.”

T’Challa touched the ring he had inherited, sighing. 

“I haven’t had it for long, but whenever I am working in my capacity as channeler of Bast, the smoke appear. It is sort of a mark of my status, but it also works as a warning: that they are noticed and under my watch.”

Sam’s eyes were half closed and intense, so T’Challa waved his hand to make the uneasy feeling go away, picking up his beer again.

“It sounds more serious than it actually is. It's not a big deal to me, I'm used to it.” 

“I see.”

Sam turned his head away, and then he looked back, grinning.

“So, the Panther God, this Bast... likes the Pointer Sisters?”

T’Challa couldn’t help it, he burst out laughing.

“What?” Sam said, as T’Challa leaned back, having trouble breathing. 

“No no, I just, god, _umhlobo wam_ , I’ve trained for this my whole life but I never thought about the god as anything but this mighty divine entity. I don’t think Bast has a sense of music. I don’t know, maybe it’s just, you know, being happy, feeling like one with the universe, that lures the divinity out.”

Something purred, deep inside him, a confirmation of his idea. He sent out a calming thought, and could feel the spirit settling.

“Now you just sound like some cheesy romance novel,” Sam laughed, finishing his food. “Not that I would ever read anything like that.”

They looked at each other.

“Of course not,” T’Challa nodded, barely able to contain his smile.

“Not even on my Kindle,” Sam said, looking serious.

“Heaven forbid.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Umhlobo wam_ is supposed to be "my friend" in xhosa.


	4. Who let the dogs out? (Who who who)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sams and T'Challas relationship intensifies. T'Challa isn't as much in control as he wants to be. Sam tries to help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys, sorry for the long hiatus. I've been busy with life. I love this ship though, so I hope you can bear with me!

Sam woke up the next morning with T’Challa’s face inches from his. 

“Ah!” he yelled.

“Sorry,” T’Challa said, backing away, “you were so still, I was worried you were still breathing.”

Sam rubbed his eyes and glared at his friend. 

“Well I’m awake now,” he said, standing up next to the sofa.

T’Challa smiled, walking over to the fridge and getting some juice.

“Sam, you know you have access to an actual bedroom, upstairs?”

The American nodded, looking a little embarrassed.

“Sure.”

“Then may I inquire why were you sleeping out here?” T’Challa continued.

“I just... don’t feel like imposing. The couch is fine.”

T’Challa opened his mouth to argue, but shut it again and just shook his head.

“Suit yourself, I guess. Want to go for a run?”

“Sure,” Sam said, noticing that T’Challa was wearing the same outfit as yesterday morning, a grey pair of sweatpants and a hoodie. 

He dressed in his own and followed his friend into the elevator. The king pressed the ground floor button three times and the doors closed.

“Let me guess,” Sam said, “we are not going to some 24/7 gym across the street?”

T’Challa shook his head, looking slightly appalled by the mere idea. Sam had to force himself to take his eyes off him, the way he conducted himself. Everything about him screamed royalty, even in worn workout clothes.

“Not exactly,” he said, and Sam could almost hear the “thank god” behind it.

They traveled what seemed like ages, standing in that small space together. When the doors opened and they stepped out, Sam couldn’t help but gasp. 

The building was large, as large an underground warehouse. The ceiling stretched out a good forty feet above them, and Sam couldn’t see where the building ended because it was so vast. Fans, vents and lights started whirring and emitting soft light as T’Challa flipped some switches.

“You said this was only one of many places you use.”

“It is,” T’Challa said, following him onto the soft, rubbery floors.

“Do you have these kind of places under all of them?”

“Some.” 

Sam just stood there, holding his chest for a minute. 

“ _Man!_ ,” he breathed, with feeling.

“You coming?” T’Challa grinned, walking past him. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Sam said. “So what are we doing?” 

“I don't usually get anyone down here, so I was thinking some laps, and then maybe, spar? Just for fun?”

Sam bit his lip, but then he shrugged. He started jogging towards the tracks further into the big space.

“I'm pretty sure you’ll kick my ass, but sure.”

T’Challa jogged up to him, a light spring in his step.

“Don't sell yourself short, I've seen what you can do.”

“Yeah, with my harness...”

“Still takes a lot of coordination to make it work.”

“Sure,” Sam shrugged.

“Hey.”

T’Challa jogged up in front of him. 

“I’m trying to give you a compliment, Sam. Just accept it.”

Sam looked into his eyes. A shy smile turned his lips into a crooked grin.

“Thanks,” he said. 

“You’re welcome.”

T’Challa smiled back, almost tripping over his own feet, making a clumsy double flip and landed further off, cursing. Sam laughed a little, helping him to his feet. 

“Come on, Catty, let's see who can make ten laps first.”

Watching Sam run off made T’Challa feel the same thrill again as he had some nights before dancing, and he was almost certain he was glowing faintly as he ran off to race the Falcon.

***

They had been sparring for quite some time. T’Challa had a fully stocked kitchen down the basement as well, so they had grabbed some energy bars and kept going. Dodging a fist flying by, T’Challa cursed himself for underestimating the Falcon so greatly. What he didn't have in super powers, he definitely made up for in scheming and skill. T’Challa knew it was kind of hard to meet his level of skill, but maybe it was because Sam had been training with Captain America or because he just was that good. Either way, he made T’Challa work up a good sweat. They were down on the floor now, Sam’s strong body holding him down, his breath on his neck, the smell of his sweat and heat of his body so close. 

It was very distracting.

“I’m out,” T’Challa wheezed, the feeling of being close too dangerous for comfort. 

He tapped out against the floor and Sam slowly released his grip, moving his head up to look at him, looking ridiculously happy and gorgeous at the same time.

“Did I win?” he asked, and T’Challa couldn't help but smile. 

“Yes my friend, you did.”

Sam let up a little, too excited to fully see what the closeness did to the man under him.

“Man,” he grinned, breathing hard, delirious from exhaustion, “I mean, I never thought I would be able to, not ever...”

The proximity, the heat, Sam’s smile, suddenly became overbearing. T’Challa felt a desperate need to be back in control. A dozen feelings rushed through his mind: anxiousness, wanting to be closer to Sam, not knowing what that would bring, and a flutter in his stomach when he imagined the way Sam would react if doing something... unexpected. He gave in to the sensation and pushed the other man to the side and down so Sam was under him, all in one swift motion. T’Challa barely noticed his hands glowing as he stared Sam down. He had gone very still and even looked a bit scared. A low growl escaped the king and Sam visibly swallowed. The air felt tight around them, only inches apart. Sam wasn’t a friend anymore, but prey, frozen by the gaze of the mighty Panther.

A second later, T’Challa realized what he was doing. He let go and tumbled backwards, closing his eyes, and didn't stop moving until he hit the wall a couple of feet further away. 

Sam didn't move. Not yet. Not until his heartbeat stopped pounding in his ears. God, he hoped T’Challa didn't notice the bulge in his pants. He sat up and folded his legs in front of him in an effort to hide it.

“Hey,” he called out to the still slightly glowing dark shape in the corner. “Talk to me. What happened?”

“I...” 

The king’s voice was small. Sam hugged himself a little, waiting. 

“I just got a little carried away.”

“It’s okay,” Sam said in a comforting voice.

T’Challa snorted in the dark.

“How do you do that? Make me feel better when I...?”

Sam smiled.

“I don't know. I'm good at listening I guess.”

They sat there for a while, quietly, until T’Challa felt calm enough to move.

“I need a shower,” he said, “and a drink.”

Sam rose as well, tugging down his sweater to hide his crotch.

“I don't think drinking is a good idea when you...” he started.

“I don't care what you think,” T’Challa hissed.

The king swept past Sam without looking at him. 

“We are showering and then we’re going out.”

T’Challa flicked off the lights in efficient motions, not looking at Sam. He had to run to make it to the elevators. The ride back was silent.

***

“Apologies,” T’Challa said the moment he got out of his room about an hour later, “for my earlier behavior.”

Sam looked at him and nodded.

“Sure,” he said. “It's probably my fault too, getting you all riled up like that.”

“No, no!” 

The king dismissed his apology.

“I wouldn't want you to think that.”

“Hey," Sam said, "you lost your dad and you got all these powers and people are relying on you now. It's not your fault.”

T’Challa gave him a long glance, and then shook his head.

“See, you're doing it again. You are such a good man, Sam. How do you say so selfless?”

“I'm not...”

Sam hesitated, looked at T’Challa for a moment and then looking away. 

“Trust me, I do lots of selfish things.”

“Really? Like what?”

Somehow, T’Challa felt himself moving a little closer, locking eyes with Sam, trying to understand. Sam licked his lips nervously. Suddenly, the king’s closeness made his head fill with images of the fight. The growl, deep in his throat, had been scary, but also thrilling. It was like tasting something forbidden and then having it yanked away and expected to be forgotten. It made it even more alluring.

“You don’t want to hear about that, it was a long time ago,” Sam said. “Trust me, I haven’t always been the upright citizen you see before you today.”

T’Challa nodded slightly, leaning against the kitchen island separating them.

“Well, if you would like to tell, sometime, I’m willing to listen. I still consider you are a good friend, Sam Wilson.”

T’Challa’s voice was casual, but his eyes followed him, intensely, unblinking. Sam couldn’t help but think about how it would have tasted claim T’Challa’s lips in that moment, to see those deep wonderful eyes close in reverence, to lick along the lush bottom lip... Then, the door opened, and Mina walked inside, the sound of her heels shattering the silence. They broke apart, the inches between them turning into several feet. 

“Oh,” she said, spotting them, “still here, are you? Thought you were going out?”

T’Challa took a deep breath before stepping away from the kitchen island and greeting her coldly. She noticed immediately.

“ _I didn't interrupt anything, I hope?_ ” she asked innocently in xhosa.

“Did you watch the security feed before walking in?” the king barked, clearing his throat.

“Why, no,” she purred back. “Should I have?”

T’Challa sighed and rubbed his face.

“Let's go, Sam,” the king said, rushing out the door, not being able to stand another second of his assistant’s smug grin. 

“Good bye my king. Mr Wilson.”

She winked at him as she curtsied.

“Um, bye,” Sam said.

“Take it easy,” she said as the door slammed shut behind them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you like, leave a comment saying that you did<3
> 
> Mwah, love you!


	5. Close

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> T'Challa gets hunted down by crazy fans and uses magic, and then things just kind of turns into PWP.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter where we go from "Teen and Up"-rating to "Explicit"-rating. Enjoy!

They had been out all day, first a couple of drinks at a bar on roof top bar, then lunch, then another bar where they had been treated to a show, than some kind of casino, then dinner... Sam felt woosy but tagged along, fearing the king might use any kind of talk back as a reason to send him away, or even tell him it was time to travel back to the US. Sam really wanted to see this through, but he was acutely aware of who had the power to end it right now, and didn’t want to push too hard. He did his best to seem harmless and sympathetic, hoping that it would make the king trust him again.

 

Not that T’Challa kept quiet. He talked plenty. Just not about things that mattered.

 

Sam had thought that people might not even recognize their new king at first. The people at the summit before had seemed casual enough. Now, out in public, Sam realized they might just have acted that way to make T’Challa feel more at ease. The general public did not seem to share that sentiment.

 

At the first bar, some people had pointed and whispered, even pulled out their cellphones. At the second place, there had been more, including a few people coming up and asking for pictures and autographs. T’Challa seemed surprised, but did his best to oblige. Those first people never seemed to have enough though, and at the third place, they were asked to leave but still crowded outside, more and more gathering. T’Challa almost looked a little panicked and as they got up to leave, the waiters actually suggesting they take the back door through the kitchen. 

 

“Thank you,” T’Challa conceded, and they got up as if they were going to the bathroom. 

 

They spotted him at the back entrance too, of course, people were coming in from all directions now. A couple with purple amulets were calling “King, king!” in high pitched voices, but most were in xhosa, and even if Sam didn’t understand the words, he knew that they would probably get trampled or get somebody else hurt if they didn’t get away. 

 

“We need to hide, T!” he shouted. “Hold on!”

 

Sam grabbed T’Challa’s hand, dragging him through a narrow alley and up some stairs. They made their way into some abandoned houses.

 

“In here,” T’Challa hissed.

 

They could still hear the chanting down the street. T’Challa grabbed Sam’s hand and held it tight, and Sam wanted to mention it, but T’Challa was holding his breath, a concentrated look on his face, and it didn’t feel like a good time to interrupt. His grip was strong, like he was borrowing Sam’s strength for something.

 

A triumphant smile crept across T’Challa’s features a second later. 

 

“There,” he said, slumping against the wall. 

 

Sam listened, and the crowd seemed to fall silent. He peeked out and watched them, the looks on their faces confused and embarrassed. Then they seemed to be dispersing, walking away in different directions.

 

“Whoa,” the American whispered. “What did you do?”

 

“Oh, you know, just... magic.”

 

T’Challa grinned proudly for a second. He was sweating, his breath heavy. Sam hadn’t seen him look so exhausted before, not even after their sparring match in the basement.

 

“We should get you back to your apartment,” Sam said, worriedly.

 

“I’ll be fine, just give me a second. I never tried that before.”

 

T’Challa looked almost giddy as he straightened up, his eyes shining. He still hadn’t let go of Sam’s hand, and didn’t seem to mind anymore. He was beautiful, in every sense of the word. Sam wanted to tell him, but wasn’t sure how to, or how it would be received. 

 

“Come on, let’s get you home,” he said instead, hauling his friend up and slinging his arm over his shoulders.

 

“Sam, aren’t you impressed with what I just did?” T’Challa said, stumbling forward, pressing his body into him. “I made them all forget why they were here. At least 150 people. It’s the largest crowd I ever tried to influence.”

 

“Yeah... You should not do that too often though,” Sam tried, sounding like a worried parent.

 

“Come on, Sam, I’m already better,” T’Challa promised. “A little tired, but nothing too bad.”

 

T’Challa looked down at Sam and his grin was possibly stunning, his nose inches away from his own. He took a deep breath, steadying himself.

 

“Admit it,” T’Challa dared him, somewhere close to his face, still giddy. “Admit that that was pretty cool.”

 

“Hmm, well, everything you do is pretty cool...,” Sam mumbled, and was cut off by T’Challa’s mouth on his. 

 

***

 

They were lying on the living room sofa, drinking each other in, a brief moment of respite between making out.

 

Sam believed he should be sorry for making T’Challa’s lips even more swollen than they ever were, but in his state he couldn’t really remember why.

 

“I wanted to kiss you since we wrestled in the basement,” he confessed, tracing the king’s jawbone with kisses.

 

“Really,” T’Challa breathed. 

 

“Yeah... and at the environmental meeting. And kind of all the time.”

 

Sam swallowed and paused.

 

“Is that okay?”

 

T’Challa looked at him, his smile blooming slowly, like a sunrise.

 

“It’s more than okay, Sam.”

 

Sam kissed him again. He liked kissing T’Challa, he decided. Now that he had tried it, he wasn’t even sure if he could ever live without it. All he wanted now was to be close to the king.

 

T’Challa himself felt blissful, pure, light-hearted. Nothing had ever felt more right in his life. Having Sam Wilson around made him feel significantly less in control, but what previously had made him worried didn’t anymore. Not as much at least. He wasn’t sure he wanted to experience a day without Sam ever again. Just the thought made him grab the shirt of the other hero and bunch it up in his hands. Then, he simply stripped him of it by ripping it apart. It was his anyway, and he had a hundred more in his closet. 

 

“Dude,” Sam said in frustration, but it came out more like a moan. “That was like a five hundred dollar shirt!”

 

T’Challa smiled against his mouth, amused by his fixation with money. 

 

“I... don’t...care,” he said against Sam’s throat. 

 

Touching him was priceless, his warm, smooth skin against his, and the muscles moving underneath. He ventured further and found the pockets of the tight black jeans he insisted that Sam would wear. In his ear, Sam hissed and bit his earlobe. It was divine. He could feel his lover strain against the pants, his length between his legs. T’Challa acknowledged him by pressing his hips towards him. Sam was breathing hard against his collarbone, and his hands ventured south to assess the situation. Then, Sam’s hands were on his zipper, his head propped up on one arm. 

 

“May I?” he said, his eyes half shut, pupils blown.

 

“You may,” T’Challa said, as though it was some ancient ritual.

 

Sam kissed him again, for so long T'Challa actually wondered if he had heard him, before getting to his pants. His hand was warm and moved skillfully over his head and shaft, making T’Challa breathe faster, and want to return the favor. 

 

Neither of them pretended to be well versed of making love to their own sex, but neither of them was in a rush, and they both knew their bodies enough to know when to ask the other to wait a little, in which they kept removing more and more of each other’s clothes. At some point, T’Challa began to tire of the narrow sofa and dragged Sam the few feet inside his bedroom, where he dropped him on the king size and began kissing every inch of his bared ass. Sam laughed as he pulled him back up. They slammed into each other on the bed, sweating, erect, almost naked except for Sam’s socks and T’Challa’s underwear. T’Challa wrapped his legs around Sam, claiming his neck, his mouth, all of him.

 

During all of this, Sam noticed T’Challa starting to glow again. It wasn’t bad and Sam didn’t notice him being affected anyway, and considering he was otherwise engaged, he didn’t mention it. T’Challa seemed happy and carefree. Sometime around the same time, the king was on top of him, licking his nipples, his neck and ears, like he wanted to eat him. A soft purr vibrated inside his chest, and Sam shivered. He felt safe there, with T’Challa, and also so turned on he almost felt embarrassed. To distract himself, he flipped them over and started to plant kisses on him, further and further down. T’Challa mewled and arched his back as Sam reached his ribs, and Sam could feel the purr grow into a growl as he reached the rim of his underwear. Sam wasn’t sure how to continue at first, but, encouraged by the sounds the king was making, nibbled on the inside of his thighs, giving him an experimental lick across the front of his boxers. The high sound from somewhere above him told him he was on the right track. Biting the fabric, he soon had eased it off the king’s hips. T’Challa’s breath came in small bursts as Sam kissed the shaft and tip of his cock, slowly. He had noticed the purple glow pulsing off him now, his hands bunching up the sheets in strained fists. The room was dark, but T’Challa lit it up like a Christmas tree, glowing a vibrant purple. Sam licked him up and down, mouthing at the shaft, his thighs, the center of that special smell of arousal that permeated the room, T’Challa’s scent. God, he remembered standing there a couple of days before, trying out clothes and trying not to let the king know how much his presence affected him. It wasn’t foreign to him to be so affected by another man, but it was his first time acting out those impulses instead of just using them in his... alone time.

 

The body under him moved impatiently, demanding to be touched, and he hummed slightly before doing what he had only fantasized about before. T’Challa shook wonderfully when he took down his length, and barely stilled when Sam’s finger started circling the rim of his ass. T’Challa rocking into his mouth wasn’t so bad as he thought. Sam relaxed and didn’t feel like gagging, taking more and more until he could feel T’Challa in the back of his throat. He tried to keep the rhythm up with his hands, and he could feel shiver after shiver rip through his lover. At some point, T’Challa started rocking towards his hand, tightening his muscles. Sam was only too happy to oblige. T’Challa’s breath strained, and he arched, and stilled. Sam swallowed around him, greedily, like he hadn’t done anything else in his life. It felt a little weird, but then he caught a glimpse of T’Challa’s blissed out grin and decided it wasn’t, if it made him smile like that. T’Challa tugged Sam up to him and caught his mouth, claiming his lips, pulling him under him, grinding his hips against Sam’s still hard, hot cock. Now, it was Sam’s turn to moan and arch under T’Challa’s hands. 

 

“I want,” T’Challa growled in the dark, his glow dimmed somewhat, “I want...”

 

“Anything,” Sam breathed, madly, eyes closed, far away. 

 

He could feel T’Challa stretch out to his nightstand and a sound of something wet. T’Challa’s hand, applying a slippery substance to his hand and being on top of him second later. Sam gasped, and stilled the eager king’s hips. 

 

“Let me... first...”

 

He entered him, his fingers bending upwards. T’Challa shuddered and arched on top of him, so breathtakingly beautiful. Sam added another finger and his lover rocked onto his fingers, glowing and shining. Sam could feel the coiling warmth inside him, telling him he didn’t have long. T’Challa seemed to notice too, his smile down on him full of power and lust. Neither of them wanted to stop. Meeting T’Challa’s eyes was what did it for Sam, he dragged in a sharp breath of air and drowned in a sea of white as the orgasm rushed over him and tingled in every nerve of his body. 

 

A moment later, he wasn’t sure how long, he came too, T’Challa resting close to him, the glow diminishing, slow breaths tickling his neck. Sam rolled to his side and kissed the king’s nose. T’Challa smiled softly, relaxed, and slung an arm around him, pulling him closer. They fell asleep like that, nestled together, more relaxed then than in a very long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! <3


	6. Ring ring

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fluffiest fluff... and a phonecall.

“Hello?... Oh, hi Steve!”

T’Challa tried to keep his composure. Sam’s phone hadn’t rung once in the whole time he had visited.

“Yeah, miss you too!... H-how things are?”

Sam scratched his neck, clearly out of words. T’Challa raised an eyebrow at him.

“...good,” Sam said, to both the king and into the phone.

A small smile turned the corner of his mouth up. T’Challa felt a thrill in his chest. 

“Really good,” Sam continued, flicking his eyes up at T’Challa bashfully. “How ‘bout you?”

Sam listened for a while.

“Aw, that's great man! I'm happy for you two!...Mhm...uh-hu. Yeah. Classic Stark!... Of course! Yeah, I'm staying with him. Yeah, he’s right here. Okay.”

Sam handed the phone over to T’Challa. 

“Cap wants to speak with you.”

The king took the phone and held it delicately to his ear.

“Yes, mr Rogers?”

“Your majesty,” Captain America greeted him fondly. “I just wanted to say thanks for helping out Sam. I'm sure he told you that he volunteered to stay but still...”

“Not at all,” T’Challa said, hoping he didn't let slip just how much he did like having the American around. “Not a problem.”

“Oh,” Rogers said, and quieted for just one second. 

“How is mr Ba-, sorry, mr Buckley, fairing?” T’Challa asked as the silence stretched out.

“Oh, Bucky is doing pretty good, I like to think,” Steve said, the grin on his face audible. “That's actually the reason I called. I would like to invite you to our wedding.”

T’Challa’s breathing stopped. He was unsure why, but his heart swelled, he almost got tears in his eyes.

“I would be honored,” he said, a thickness in his throat. 

Sam eyed him carefully, and moved closer to gently put a hand on his shoulder.

“Great, I’ll send you an email with the details.”

“Great,” T’Challa repeated, his mind racing. 

There was a second voice in the background and Steve sounded rushed.

“Sorry, T, gotta go, bye.”

“Good bye.”

T’Challa handed the black phone back to Sam. 

“Steve invited us to his and Bucky’s wedding," he whispered. 

Sam nodded, sliding down to sit next to him. T’Challa could see that Sam saw the upset look in his eyes, even though he did the best he could to compose himself.

“Do you want a plus one?” he finally asked, putting his hand on the kings gently.

“Don't you have other plans?” T’Challa asked, turning his palm up towards Sam’s. 

“Not really.”

“You don't even know when it is,” T’Challa pointed out in a murmur.

“I don't need to know. If you want me there, I’ll be there.”

The king looked at his friend, no, his lover. 

“How are you... you?” he asked, his head leaning on his shoulder, watching their entwined fingers. “Too kind.”

Sam chuckled.

“You make me out like some sort of saint, but it's really me who should thank my lucky stars. I'll have the hottest date on that wedding and you know it.”

T’Challa tried to laugh but it came out more like a snort. Sam hugged him, and the solidity of his body was the most comforting the king had experienced in a long time.


	7. A day in Mina's life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mina goes to T'Challa's apartment to make sure everything's alright.

Mina let herself in, as usual. She ventured up the stairs to the apartment and made her own mental notes as she went along. It had been awhile since her king had stayed in this apartment for such a long period of time, and it was nice to feel the pulse of the city instead of the quiet hum of the jungle. She couldn’t recall him ever staying at a place for this long before, growing restless by the minute. 

Mina was his assistant because her father had been his father’s. It was a long running companionship, that came with many perks. Her family name was known, and if she needed anything she just had to mention who she was and who she worked for, and the doors would open almost instantly. She had never abused it though, even as the thought had crossed her mind on more than one occasion. The tradition could not be broken, and the repercussions of such a thing would be grave. She bristled at the mere idea. 

Now, she straightened herself, took a deep breath and methodically started to tick things off on her blackberry. Call the cleaning crew, check. Restock the fridge, check. His favorite kind of tea was running low, and she made a note to go buy more of it in the afternoon. He had discovered it in the US, and it had been hard to find, requiring her to use all of her connections.

Speaking of America... Mina looked around. The sofa seemed, for lack of a better term, unoccupied. No bed covers or pillow neatly folded on top of it anymore. Had the american left? Had their agreement come to an end? Such a pity, she thought. Sam Wilson had been a good influence on the king. She sighed, turning her mind to other things. There would be more chances to get the king to look happy again. Now that she knew his preferences a little bit better, she would have something to work with. Escorts, perhaps, or something of the like. She could certainly arrange for something more exotic, someone from the US, with a charming accent...

Pondering her options, she continued to check off her list. The upper rooms looked untouched, so she made a note of that too. They were an effective lot, but she hated using their services more than necessary. As she walked downstairs again, she heard a sound from the king’s bedroom. Wasn’t he supposed to be at a meeting right now? 

T’Challa didn’t usually stay in, but she figured he earned it. Couldn’t be easy, entertaining the american and beginning to shoulder the responsibilities of being the king and the Black Panther. Still thinking of her duties, she opened the door, her eyes on her phone.

“ _My king_ ,” she began, lifting her eyes, and paused.

She had seen him in a lot of weird states since she had started her position. They had played as kids, eating mud pies and playing tag. Training for his responsibilities from an early age, she had been the one feeding him when he was groggy with sleep, making sure he got to his classes and that he made his homework. She had been comforting him when he returned from United Nations meeting, and afterwards, he said that he hadn’t cried until she held him in her arms. They had always had each other’s backs. She had even walked in on him masturbating, and it had made them shy for a while but after that they carried on. She, had never thought, however, that she would walk in on him sitting on top of another man. 

Mina closed the door quickly, and almost fell backwards over the sofa in her want to give the two men some privacy. She stumbled to the kitchen area and sat down, her legs a little weak. Then, she started giggling, not being able to control herself. 

T’Challa emerged a minute later, and she could tell he was trying to look sorry, even though he had a stupid grin on his face the whole time. He looked thoroughly blissed out and that made her happy. 

“ _Sorry_ ,” he said, not looking sorry at all, still barely containing his smile.

Mina tried to compose herself but was still smiling too.

“ _Don’t be_ ,” she answered, “ _from what I gathered, it looked enjoyable. Isn’t the American missing you?_ ” 

“ _Probably, but I just wanted to make sure you were alright._ ”

Mina snorted.

“ _T’Challa, do you think I am completely blind to the world? A man can love a man. It is not so earth shattering as you have it sound._ ”

T’Challa’s face darkened a little in embarrassment. 

“ _Sorry for assuming. I did not mean to..._ ”

Mina shook her head and rose from the chair.

“ _No need for any of that. I will leave now, and... I'll try to knock next time._ ”

She winked at him and he nodded, gratefully.

Outside of the apartment, Mina lit a cigarette. She hadn’t smoked in two years, but sometimes she had one for old time’s sake. She let her mind go blank for a while. When she was finished, she took a deep breath, hailed a cab and gave the address for the tea store. Might as well make something useful of that day.

**Author's Note:**

> If you like it, leave a kudos<3 
> 
> That would be cool of you! b(^.^)


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